


Rock Me

by spikesgirl58



Series: ABBA/Foothills [73]
Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon never gave up on Illya.  Illya would never give up on Napoleon.  Sadly, the same thing can't be said for their bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rock Me

“That’s it.  I’ve had it!” 

Illya’s hand paused midway to his mouth as Napoleon came storming into the kitchen.  He asked, “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?  After last night you can even think to ask that?  I’m not spending one more night in that bed!”

A myriad of thoughts cascaded through Illya’s head as his hand dropped to the table, the mouthful in the spoon dumped back into a milky cereal bowl grave.  The idea of Napoleon leaving him was absurd but that didn’t keep it from bursting in and setting up shop.  “I thought last night was very…”   He searched for the necessary word.  Crazed, wild, inspired, lustful – none of these seemed quite right.  He’d let Napoleon do things to him last night that rivaled common sense.  Illya was still slightly stunned and more than a little sore.  “… Nice.” 

“Nice?  I can barely walk.  I’ve had it.  No more.”

“No more sex?”  Illya didn’t even want to contemplate that.

“Not with that bed frame.  Illya, it’s older than I am.  It squeaks and creaks when you change your mind. I’m guessing it came with the house?”

“Yes.”

“We need a new bed – today.”

“Couldn’t we just swap out that one for the one in the guest room?”  Illya felt a surge of panic.  He hadn’t budgeted for a new bed and the dish machine was making an odd grinding sound.  His meat bill was due this week and he needed to pay his green grocer.  “I can tighten the bolts.  They’ve probably just worked loose.  We have been giving it quite a workout.”

For a moment, Napoleon paused and then to Illya’s relief nodded.  “Okay, you can try that, but if it starts singing its usual song, no more arguments.  Okay?”

“Yes, I accept your terms.”  Illya held out a hand and they shook solemnly.

                                                                                *****

There is nothing that can’t be done less efficiently with the addition of a cat or, in Illya’s case, two cats.  He’d gotten Napoleon to help him remove the mattress and box springs and winced at the sight.  Immediately the cats were there investigating.

“Jeez, Illya, when was that last time you cleaned under the bed?  You don’t have dust bunnies; you have dust elephants,” Napoleon said with a grin.    “Don’t eat that, Moutard.”   Napoleon went to get the broom and dustpan while Illya started looking through some of the dust and cat hair covered items.  He was pretty sure some of this stuff was Matt’s.

Work on the bed was delayed as they went through the objects and determined their current status, pausing now and again to let the cats see what they were doing.  Not surprisingly, most went directly into the large plastic garbage bag Napoleon had brought along.

“What is this?”  Napoleon held up something slightly petrified.

“I think an apple core in a previous life.”

“You chucked garbage under the bed?”

“Not me.  Garbage attracts vermin and I don’t want any of that within a mile of Taste.”  He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the two cats playing in the bed linen.  “That’s why I have them.”

“Good plan.  The rats will take one look and die laughing.  Illya, those cats no more hunt than I track down THRUSH.”

“I happen to have total faith in them.”  Illya used a damp cloth to clean off the side of a frame and examined a bolt.  “Could you get me…?”

“A wet cloth?  A dry one?  A really big wastebasket and a comely French maid?”

“WD-40.  It’s inside the pantry on the bottom shelf with the cleaning supplies.  All the bolts are rusted and that will help to work them loose.”  Illya made a face.  “What would I do with a maid?”

“Everybody ought to have a maid.”  Napoleon laughed at Illya’s confusion.  “It’s a song from a musical.  A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum.”  When that didn’t register, Napoleon just shook his head.  “Obviously not a lover of musical comedies.”

“I love you.   That’s enough.”

                                                                                ****

Illya was intent upon a bolt.  It was the last one and it was resisting him with a vigor that both annoyed and challenged him.   The cats had long since abandoned him and were now dozing on the haphazardly piled bedspread.

“Hey, Chef.”  Illya glanced over at the doorway.  Matt, his partner and former lover, was standing there, grinning.  Illya couldn’t remember when he stopped being Illya and became Chef to everyone.  None of his friends or co-workers called him by his given name any longer.

“Yes, Matt, what can I do for you?”

“I was just wondering if you wanted me to cook tonight.”

“No, I can.  Why do you ask?” 

“It’s nearly four and we are set to open in an hour.  The kitchen staff is getting frantic.”

“Four?”  Illya reached for a clock and shook it. “Damn it.”

“It’s okay, I’ll take over.”

For a moment, Illya’s ego nearly burst out with, _you couldn’t possibly cook for Taste!_   Then Illya thought better of it.  For years, Matt had been working by his side.  It was time.  “That would be great. It’s going to take me most of the night just to get the grease out from under my fingernails.” 

The look on Matt’s face was totally worth the blow to Illya’s ego.

 _“_ _Davvero_ (Really)?  I was joking, Chef.”

“Yes, really.  You have as much right to cook as I do.  You take the kitchen tonight.  If you have any trouble, don’t call me.”  Illya grinned slyly and motioned to the bed.  “We may be taking this out on a test drive.”

“ _Si, si!  Grazi.”_

“You are welcome.  You deserve it.  Now, go and let me work in peace.”

 

                                                                                ****

Illya sat down carefully upon the bed and bounced gently.  Only silence greeted him and he smiled.  Getting up, he walked to the window and looked out.  The parking lot for the restaurant was about three quarters filled.  Not bad for a Thursday night.  Part of him wanted to walk over and poke his head into the kitchen, but if he did that, he knew Matt would immediately defer to him and step aside.

 _No, it’s time for Matt to do this.  It’s only right._    It seemed odd to have time to himself.  Napoleon was taking a vintner classes at the local community college in order to get a better handle on some of the local wines.  He’d already brought back some information that had helped them with their wine list. 

Still, Illya wondered if it would be enough.  He had the restaurant to run and his greatest fear was that Napoleon would grow bored.  Illya had suggested trips to The City or even Sacramento, but Napoleon seemed content to stay here.  Perhaps the years of constant running had taken as much toll upon his partner as they had Illya.  He was happy to start and end his days here.

He looked down at his grease-stained fingers and grimaced. Just cleaning his hands would take him the rest of the night.  Illya glanced over at the bathroom and smiled.

Whistling a tune he thought might be some ABBA song, Illya walked into the bathroom and turned on the taps to the bathtub.

Like so many other things, it was original to the house and Illya loved it.  When he lived in New York and San Francisco, he got used to taking showers, but now he enjoyed slowing down from time to time to soak in the claw-footed bathtub.  It was deep, the slope was just right and for a few minutes, he could shuffle off all his responsibilities and just relax.

He found a bottle of lavender and peppermint bath oil under the bathroom sink and poured some under the running water.  He thought for a second and added more.  Almost instantly the air was perfumed with a spicy, yet calming aroma.  He inhaled, smiled, and stripped off.

With a sigh of happiness, he sank into the warm water and closed his eyes.  To actually have a few minutes to himself was a rare treat.  A glass of Woodbridge Old Vine Zinfandel would be nice, but he wasn’t about to go get something.  Nothing was going to move him from this tub.

 

He was dozing lightly when he thought he heard the door downstairs open and close.  A lifetime ago, it would have made him go for his gun.  Now it merely made his gut clench for a minute.    This was Jackson, nothing ever happened here.

He heard a familiar step on the staircase and smiled.

“Illya?”

“In here.”  He waited and the bathroom door opened a moment later.  Napoleon entered, a relieved grin on his face.  He walked to the tub and squatted beside it.

“Are you okay?  I stopped by the restaurant and a very harried but happy Matt told me you’d taken the night off.” 

“I did and I am fine.”   Lazily, Illya stroked his stomach, let his head loll and smiled at Napoleon’s expression.

“Oh, more than fine, I would say.”

“As much as your interest is appreciated…”

“I know, we aren’t as young as we used to be.”

“But we are not as old as we are going to be either.”  Illya snaked up an arm and drew Napoleon down into a kiss.  He knew his aggressiveness still surprised Napoleon, but Illya wasn’t going to waste a minute of the time they had together.  If anything, his experiences had taught him to never pass up an opportunity for happiness.

They kissed like that for a long minute and then Napoleon pulled away.  “Ouch.”

“Are you okay?”  Illya asked as Napoleon straightened.

“I have a cramp in my leg.  I’m not used to squatting anymore.”

“And yet how many hours we spent in cramped, cold positions and never thought a moment about it.”  Illya trailed his hand through the water.  “I could… massage your cramp if you’d like.”

That trademark, lop-sided smile of Napoleon’s answered him back and Illya leaned forward to release the water from the tub.  Unlike Illya, who left his clothes in a pile on the bathroom floor, Napoleon busied himself with hanging his suit jacket while Illya climbed out and wrapped himself in a bath towel. 

He watched through the bathroom door as Napoleon sat on the bed and then looked up, surprised, at Illya.

“You fixed it!”

“You doubted me?”

“I don’t remember you being so handy.”  Napoleon gave the bed a test bounce.  “This is really great.”

“What do you mean you don’t remember?”  Illya thought back to the many times his ability to tinker saved their hides and then he frowned.  “They scrubbed your memory, didn’t they?”

Napoleon untied one of his shoes and nodded.  “That was the price I paid for walking away.”  Realization took him a bit longer.  “Wait… you mean, they didn’t…?”

“I didn’t give them the chance.  I just took my money and left.”  Illya draped the towel over the back of a chair.  “My one regret was losing all my vinyl.  Some of those records were irreplaceable.”

“You didn’t.  I still have everything.  I kept… thinking you’d be back.  When you didn’t come home, I just put everything in storage.  Then Dad died… and Aunt Amy.  Everything got so crazy that I never had a chance to go through anything.  Everything is still there.”  Napoleon unbuttoned his shirt.  “I’ll send for it in the morning.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say thank you.”  Napoleon stood and carried the rest of his clothes to the hamper.  “Now about that cramp…”

                                                                                                ****

Illya’s entire world was focused on just one thing and it was the languid speed of Napoleon’s thrusts into his body.  He wanted fast; Napoleon was going insanely slow, pulling nearly entirely out and then gliding back in, nudging Illya’s prostate in the process.  Illya moaned and attempted to urge Napoleon on, but Napoleon looked down at him and shook his head.

“What’s your hurry?” Napoleon whispered, his fingers working their magic on Illya’s erection.  “You are always in so much of a rush these days.  Speed kills.  Or is this position hurting your back?”  Illya’s legs were draped over Napoleon’s shoulder and a cramped back or leg was always a threat.

“So does boredom,” Illya moaned, his own fingers digging into Napoleon’s hips.   “You, sir, are a slacker.”

“A slacker?”  Napoleon made a sharp thrust and Illya gasped.

“Of the worse kind.”  He was rewarded with another fast jab.  “That’s more like it.”

Napoleon sighed and picked up pace.  Suddenly, Illya was enveloped in a mass of sensations and need.  There were no more words, just guttural grunts and frenzied movement.   He held on until climax was no longer the only option.  With a sharp cry, he ejaculated, feeling it throb through his penis as Napoleon clenched it, lost in his own needs.  It took him a few more hard thrusts, then Napoleon froze and arched back, his mouth open in a silent scream. 

Napoleon eased Illya’s legs from his shoulders and Illya felt him slip free.  There was also a moment of longing at the sense of emptiness, but then Napoleon was in his arms, kissing him.

“Mmm, that was just what the doctor ordered,” he murmured, brushing damp blond hair from Illya’s forehead.  “You, my friend, are an animal.”

“Says you.  I’ll be lucky if I can move tomor…”  Illya shrugged Napoleon away and sat up.  “Napoleon, when did the bed collapse?”

Awareness seemed to creep in for Napoleon.  “I have no idea.  I hope there’s not a cat under there.”

“They are both in the window.”  Illya pointed.  “However, I think we need a new bed.”

“Finally, you are seeing things from my perspective.  Tomorrow we will go look.”

“Can’t.  I have five trucks due in before noon.  Just pick out something practical and not too expensive.”

“What?  No water bed?”

“Especially no water bed.  That time on that raft still haunts me.” The confusion in Napoleon’s expression made Illya smile and shake his head ruefully.

“I don’t remember.”

“It’s okay, Napoleon, I’ll remember for both of us.”

                                                                ****

A week passed and Illya forgot about the bed.  They had moved the one from the guestroom upstairs and it was working out well enough.   Most nights he was too tired to think about anything beyond just climbing in between the sheets and sleeping.

Tonight was no exception.  They’d been steadily busy all night.  The chance to catch their collective breaths never happened.  Even Matt was looking frazzled around the edges as Roxanne bade the last guests a good evening.

“Finally,” Rocky muttered, stretching his back.  “I’m glad we are doing well, but tonight was insane.  Is the moon full?”

“No idea, but at least it’s Sunday.”  Illya took the opportunity to drop into a chair and prop his feet up.  “Well, almost Monday.”

“Why don’t you head home, Chef?” Rand suggested, draping a damp dishtowel over his shoulder.  We can clean up.”

Illya smiled and shook his head.  “Then we will clean up faster with my help.”  With a grunt he got to his feet and gestured.    “Shall we?”

It was all show, though.  Illya felt like death warmed over.  There never seemed to be enough time to do everything that needed to be done.  What was amazing was that he used to jet all over the globe, stop the bad guys, save the world and still manage to go out for a night of dinner and dancing.

“Let’s face it, Kuryakin,” he muttered as he locked the door to the restaurant and walked across the parking lot to the house.  “You are not the man you used to be.”  He opened the front door and stepped in, nearly tripping over Berra Noire and Moutard as he entered.  “What is wrong with you two?”

“They are just happy to see you,” Napoleon muttered as he sat up.  He’d been sleeping on the couch and Illya grinned at the tousled hair. 

“You didn’t have to wait up for me.”  Illya leaned over to kiss him.  “But I’m glad you did.”

“Sure I did.  I wanted to show you something.”  Napoleon led him up the stairs and into the bedroom.  A brass bed was standing in the place of the old one.   For a long moment, Illya just stared.  “Do you like it?”

“No, I love it.  It’s perfect.”    And it was.  It fit the decor of the room without standing out.  It was functional and practical.  It was very Napoleon.

“I have something else for you.  Sit down.”  Illya grinned and Napoleon ruffled his hair.  “Not that.”

Illya walked to the bed and sat down heavily.  Not a squeak or a creak assaulted his ears, just the wonderful give of the mattress.  He plopped back and sighed happily.

“Don’t go to sleep quite yet,” Napoleon warned.  Illya propped himself up on his elbows as his lover settled down beside him.  He was holding a cardboard box, its flap tucked in on itself.  “Here.”

Illya sat up the rest of the way and opened the box.  With a gasp, he pulled out a stack of letters addressed to him in his grandmother’s spidery script.  There were photographs, tickets, and other bits of memories that Illya thought were gone forever.  “How…?”

“The courier came yesterday while you were at the restaurant.  The rest of the boxes will be delivered tomorrow morning, but I thought you’d like to see this.”

Illya pulled out a photograph that had been taken of Napoleon, Illya, and his parents.  “I thought these were gone forever.  I figured you’d just toss the bunch.”

“Why would I have done that?  I love you so, in turn, I loved these.”

“But I left you… I was so angry I was certain you’d be angry as well, that you’d hate me for walking out on you.”

“I couldn’t hate you, Illya.  I loved you.”

“I know, but I needed to think that you did so that I could continue on.  For a long time, all I had was that anger to get me through the days.”

“She was THRUSH, you know.”  Napoleon smiled at Illya’s expression.  “I take it you hadn’t guessed.  It’s one of the few memories I have remaining.  Some of THRUSH’s higher ups learned of us and they decided if they couldn’t kill us, then they would do the next best thing and destroy what we had.”

“And they did.”

“No, they just messed it up for a while.  They are all dead and we are… we.  I never stopped loving, Illya, not for a single moment.  It very nearly drove me mad.”                Napoleon watched as Illya carefully returned the photo to the box and set it aside.  “What’s wrong?  There’s a lot more in there.”

“And none of it holds any value to what I have right here.  Those memories can wait.  My love for you can’t.”

The bed, to its credit, was still standing when Illya was through showing Napoleon just how much love Illya had for his partner.

 

 


End file.
